Hesitate
by squarenine
Summary: What was left of a nerd's room had become a bedroom shared by two, and he hadn't a gorram qualm about it. And he never could've said no to her anyway. Chuck/Sarah, a short little oneshot.


The warm stream of early morning Burbank sun had always been his usual source of an alarm clock, the curtains only covering her side of the bed. It was a rational placement that satisfied both of them. She was hardly a morning person – _he'd_ _seen her impale alarm clocks with knives before_ – while he jumped up and greeted the day with the tunes of Huey Lewis and the News emitting from his bedside alarm clock (which he'd been forced to get rid of after she'd moved in).

He blinked the remaining hazy crust of sleep from his eyes, feeling nothing but the warmth beside him, and the soft pillow that cushioned his head. He took the moment to survey his surroundings, eyes touching and leaving the lamp that she'd placed on his dressing table, the fishbowl she'd placed next to his computer, the shiny silver case of heavy firearms tucked into his tiny closet, the vase of flowers that she watered every morning. Their post-mission board-games and movies were stacked neatly underneath her dresser, and he smiled fondly at how their previous night had ended – with a whole lot of popcorn and a healthy dose of "The Princess Bride".

He turned to the woman in question, wondering how she'd slipped those things past him. Wondering how he hadn't a care of how she'd done up their room, just as long as she did something to commemorate her moving in with him. What was left of a nerd's room had become a bedroom shared by two, and he hadn't a gorram qualm about it. And he never could've said no to her anyway.

Blonde hair spilled across her pillow in waves as she slept facing away from him, pressed into his torso as closely as possible to attain heat, his arm draped over her waist protectively. He was treated to the delicious scent of vanilla that wafted dangerously across his nostrils, contrasting with his usual fruity scent of tangerine. His fingers crept toward her, his other arm moving with snake-like elegance as it entwined around her torso.

"Chuck!" she screeched, swatting his hands away just as they advanced onto her slender form, his fingers already moving in the motions of a tickle-attack. Her voice held just about the right amount of warning, the threat that promised dire consequences of being woken up so early, though he could've sworn that her mega-watt smile gave her away. His fingers came to a rest on her waist, as she snuggled comfortably against him, pressing against him at just the right areas as the blood rushed southward.

He didn't bother to hide the radiant grin playing across his face, when she'd finally turned towards him, taking most of the blankets as she did so, eyes mischievous and playful as she finally acknowledged the bulge that pressed snugly against her front. The smoldering expression on her face was enough to send him into a frenzy, and his lips began to meld ever so softly against hers, tongues already battling for dominance. He began to explore, paying apt attention to the familiar contours of her body, moving from her wonderfully soft lips to the bare skin of her neck, nibbling softly as she sighed in bliss. His lips descended to where her t-shirt did not cover, before removing the garment altogether.

He'd had the opportunity to study her beauty, many a time during their three years of cover-sleep-overs, one incident of almost-sex, and more so when he'd finally confessed his feelings less than a year ago. Like rabbits, Morgan had commented innocently, and the short bearded man had left their apartment with half his beard ripped off, courtesy of Sarah and a little bit of masking tape. He'd always been struck dumb by her, and their love-making had always been intense, with him trying to express every ounce of love into his ministrations, while she moved in accordance, matching every stroke with equal, if not more, passion.

He collapsed, near exhaustion, half a-top her, his sweated brow pressing affectionately to hers as he continually caressed her tongue gently with his own; the once-heated battle ebbed away by fatigue. He could feel her grin against his own, her labored breathing falling into pace alongside his own.

"I could wake up like this every day," she said, and he felt his heart implode and explode and burst at brilliant smile lighting up her face as she spoke. And the only thing that registers in his mind is a chorus of _I want to wake up next to you too, I want to wake up to your beautiful face, and your blonde hair and your amazing smile. _He sat up with determination, wiping the sweat from his brow with a smooth motion.

"Wait here," he said throatily, partially from lack of use, and partly because he didn't really want to move away from her either. "_Don't move_. Don't breathe. Don't breathe. Don't breathe. _Don't move_. _Stay_," he whispered eagerly as he bounced excitedly toward his closet, pulling on his boxer shorts along the way. He has to stifle a laugh when he notices the pout on her face and the way she slumps back onto the mattress with an unceremonious _whump. _

His hands reach out to grab something from a hidden coat pocket inside their closet, and he hides it deftly in his pocket, so swiftly that for once, she's completely clueless as to what he's planning - an assumption he makes when she notices that she's collapsed face-first in to the pillow. He turns around slowly, holding a hand over his pocket, shielding the velvety box in his pocket, and with a lopsided grin, he dives back onto their bed, flipping her over to plant a soft kiss against her lips.

"Sarah," he started slowly, tentatively, ignoring the moisture pooling in his palms, or the sudden deafening heartbeat that took over his eardrums. He ignored how distracting she was being, smiling at him and all. "I love you. I know that you know that I love you. I mean, I've… said it to you so many times, and I mean it every single time. And, of course, you've shown me... shown me so many times that you – don't laugh! Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm not!" she replied defensively, further proving her point by giggling at his mindless ramble. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You were saying?"

With a mock-glare in her direction, he continued, albeit shyly, pulling the deep burgundy box from his boxers.

"I just wanted to know if you'll do me the honor in making me the happiest man alive."

* * *

A/N: Just a little note -_ she doesn't hesitate_.


End file.
